Dakar was as clean and orderly as we’d expected. It became immediately apparent to us that the Senegalese took pleasure in hanging out together as a family. We saw family groups picnicking on the beach, others were walking on the streets, taking advantage of the good weather.
Our first stop was a shopping mall, one of the biggest in the town. There were no beggars or area boys hanging around. It was as if we were in ‘the abroad’. We went from store to store admiring the goods on display. Several shops carried imported merchandise, while others were stocked with only goods made in Senegal. We spent a lot of time in one particular shop, admiring the embroidered boubous that the Senegalese were so well-known for. We had no intention of buying anything, though. Things were expensive in that mall. In one of the stores, we saw a simple white shirt (with a nice cut, admittedly) that was going for CFA 255,000, which was equivalent to N 688,500. Haba! Say wetin happen?
After our walkabout in the mall, we went to have dinner at a restaurant that had been highly recommended by one of the husbands. Now, this man and his wife (I’ll call her Granny Gourmet) have so much in common. They’re both appreciators of good food; their marriage a match made in heaven.
We had not made a reservation and, moreover, it was Christmas day, so it took a while before we got a table. When we were finally seated, I looked around at the other patrons. There were parents having dinner with their children and a few young couples. I was particularly intrigued by an old man and an equally old woman whom I assumed was his wife. The good man had not substituted her with a ‘newer model’ as was often the case. They were chatting and laughing. It was so refreshing to see an old couple still fond of each other and interested in what each one had to say.
The waiter brought the menu and I ran my eyes down the list. This restaurant was a carnivore’s delight; there was so much ‘protein’ to choose from. It was difficult to decide between the various dishes. In the end, we went with the waiter’s recommendation – a set menu that included various steaks, lamp chops, grilled chicken, liver, duck and sausages.
Granny Gourmet (chewing a piece of juicy steak): Me, I can never be a vegetarian, sha.
Me: We’re Nigerians, nah. We love our meat. Asking a Nigerian to stop eating meat is like asking an oyibo to stop drinking alcohol.
Granny Gourmet (swallowing): Ah! That can even start a war.
Me: Aswear.
The food was great, but it was too much. In addition to the array of meats, they had brought mashed potatoes, vegetables and salad. We couldn’t finish it all, so we asked for a doggy bag to carry away what was left of the meat.
Before we left Dakar, we asked the driver to drive us around the town. The Christmas lights adorning the streets were spectacular. All the roundabouts had been decorated with lights in various colours and formations. The buildings too had not been left out. One couldn’t miss the air of festivity.
We parked by the roadside so we could appreciate the scenery properly. Senegal’s population is 97% Muslim, but from the way they were celebrating, one wouldn’t think so. That said a lot about their level of religious tolerance.
Me: Hmm. See light everywhere.
Naughty Grandma: I wonder if they ever take light. I’ve noticed that since we came there’s not been an outage for even a minute.
Me (addressing the driver): Don’t they ever take light here?
Driver: Take light?
Naughty Grandma: She means power cut. Power outage.
Driver: No. We haven’t had that in over twenty years. Does that happen often in Nigeria?
I opened my mouth to say something about the electricity situation in our country, but Naija Defender’s warning look instantly sealed my lips. So, instead of answering his question, I took out my phone. This time I was going to play songs from Davido’s album, Timeless. But the phone had died; I’d neglected to charge the battery overnight, as I usually did.
Naija Defender (rummaging in her handbag): I have lots of songs in my iPod.
Me (thinking): iPod? Who still uses an iPod in 2024?
Me (uttering): That’s great. Let’s have some music.
Naija Defender brought out a very slim iPod, but as she made to turn it on, it slipped from her hand and dropped into the tiny space between the dashboard and the gear panel. She looked at the driver, horrified, and then tried to retrieve the iPod; but her fingers were too big to get in the gap. The driver too tried his best, but all his efforts were in vain. The vehicle had swallowed the iPod and there was nothing we could do.
Since there would be no music from either iPhone or iPod, Loquacious Hijabi took over. This quiet-looking woman could talk for the whole of Africa. With her soft voice and appealing diction, she regaled us with funny anecdotes from her youth, and with tales of her travels around the world – her husband had been stationed in many countries during the course of his career. She spoke fondly of him, of her children, grandchildren and siblings. She told us about her late parents and even her grandparents. It was all so interesting that we missed neither Davido nor Wizkid. And before we knew it, we had arrived in Saly.
It was a very fulfilling trip. But as we were getting out of the van, carrying out our stuff, we realized that we had left the doggy bag behind. So, we were all crestfallen as we entered the house sans iPod, sans meat.
To be continued…
